Broken Toys: How the Ruling Class Plays Roughest with the Most Marginalised

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1 hour ago

There’s a special kind of national gaslighting that happens on this damp little island. We’ve been trained like obedient pets to expect nothing resembling honesty, authenticity or integrity from politics. We’ve been worn down for so long that we now accept abuse as governance and call it democracy.

We’ve been trained like obedient pets to expect abuse from our own government and call it democracy.

We’re told we chose this arrangement. That by accident of birth, by being shoved screaming into the world through whichever unknowing cunt happened to be available, we somehow consented to being owned by a state.

And so citizenship becomes a brand. A tag. A barcode. Property rights written on a birth certificate.

You don’t pick your owner. You’re just handed over. Passed from one authority to another like livestock, or worse, like some sad little toy left in the corner of a nursery that no one remembers buying.

And if you’re queer, trans, racialised, disabled, working class, an immigrant, neurodivergent or otherwise inconvenient to the sensibilities of the ruling class, the treatment is rougher.

More careless. More cruel.

Because when society decides you’re a “lesser product,” you don’t just get handled badly — you get handled like a broken toy.

Disposable. Replaceable. Unworthy of care.

“When society decides you’re a lesser product, you get played with rougher. Dropped more often. Expected to be grateful for the bruises.”

Meanwhile, the people holding the whip hand hoard everything we create, everything we produce, everything we are. We get the crumbs. We get the scraps. And we’re told to say thank you.

That’s the part that burns.
That’s the part that feels sadistic.
That’s the part the ruling class banks on us accepting.

We’re so conditioned to see it as normal that we treat oppression like weather: just one more miserable inevitability in British life, somewhere between delayed trains and soggy chips. If the people we elect abuse us, belittle us, starve us of resources and strip our rights… well, that’s just politics, darling. That’s just how things are.

But that’s not “how things are.”
That’s how things are designed.

It’s the system.
It’s capitalism.
It’s empire logic.
It’s ownership disguised as governance.

Marginalised people get the harshest version of the lie. We’re told we’re lucky to be tolerated at all. Lucky to be allowed proximity to rights. Lucky not to be shoved back into the dark entirely.

“We deserve liberation, not ownership.”

The truth is simple: we aren’t broken toys.
We’ve never been the malfunctioning part of this arrangement.

The system is the thing that’s cracked.
The state is the brittle old doll that’s falling apart in real time.
The ruling class are just the spoiled children smashing everything they can reach, because they know someone else will be forced to clean up after them.

We don’t need to be grateful for abuse.
We don’t need to politely accept systemic violence dressed up as leadership.
We don’t need to bow to a structure that survives only by convincing us we’re powerless without it.

We deserve better than crumbs.
We deserve lives not built on fear and scarcity.
We deserve a future where our existence isn’t treated like a toy someone can discard when they’re bored.

I’m saying it now, loudly, queerly, and with every ounce of fury earned in forty years of surviving this island:

Enough is e-fucking-nough.

We deserve more than ownership.
We deserve liberation.
And we deserve it together.